But I had won. I had pounded him into the ground. I had utterly annihilated his sense of self-worth. And it felt
so
good.
He picked up his racket and tossed the ball to me. Pong, pong, pong it said as it bounced to me. "Good game, man." Yeah, it was. Good. Good for me, maybe, but not for you. You should be ashamed. "I really enjoyed it. We should play again some time." Keep telling yourself that, and maybe it will be true. Oh, and I'd love to play you again, if just for the chance to crush you a second time.
He smiled and stooped to walk out the door. Wait, no, that isn't right. Why is he smiling? I just obliterated him. I mopped the floor with the rags of his skill. How could he possibly be happy?
Does he have something wrong with him? That must be it. He must be just a little bit off. That has to be the answer.
But of course I didn't let myself notice the truth: it wasn't something wrong with him. It was something wrong with me.
This is why I don't keep score. Ever. Because I actually get like this.
ReplyDeleteWell if you promise not to keep score we can play. Because it's been a long time since I played and I really want to play but it's been a long time and I was never that good to begin with.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you had fun.
AGAIN WITH THE STOICS. OH MY.
But seriously. They said people should compete and enjoy it, but they should not compete to win, because they cannot control whether or not they win. Instead they should strive to do their own best-- better than they had ever done before. Thus, they could always be satisfied.
dude, robby, don't sweat it. I get that way too, and I keep score. of course, I'm usually kidding.
ReplyDeleteI hate score. It never ever makes me feel better about myself.
ReplyDelete